sábado, abril 18, 2015

Remembering Michael Anderson (1931-2015)

Years ago, in happier times, Michael shared
his thoughts about the marvelous world around him.We were about to publish our book on
Shearwater Pottery and on the Andersons, and chatting with him, sharing a beer
and fried fish, hearing about his special domain—the Annex--we came to enjoy
his wry humor, his sense of independence and self-reliance, his love of life.I wrote
about him in Dreaming in Clay, incorporating Michael’s own description of the
pottery and of his family.

“Jimmy’s
brother, Michael –Peter’s oldest son—admires his father’s versatility and is
proud of that quality in himself. We would often find him in the Annex, or a
few feet away in the little shed that houses the electric kiln, where he
supervises the casting, decoration, and glazing of figurines, and the firing of
the castware. Sometimes he would be feeding the squirrels peanut butter and
crackers or working in the yard of his house, down the path. His father, Peter,
he told us, could do anything he put his mind to, from boat-building to
beekeeping to hunting to arranging flowers. Over the years, Michael himself had
worked at a variety of jobs. He was a taxidermist in the Field Museum in
Chicago, and after returning to Ocean Springs, he worked for two optical
companies in town. At the Pottery there seems to be almost nothing he hasn’t
done, except for throwing. He has always liked to read and write, and lately he
had tried his hand at an essay or two.In a recent offering, he reflected on his role as “caretaker” at
Shearwater. He felt himself a “shareholder” not only in a pottery business, but
also in an “ecological environment” that was hard to capture in words. “ Here
is part of what he wrote:

**

. . .The house that I share now with
memories—for my mate is no longer here and my daughters have flown the nest—is
in a small clearing. It is surrounded and shielded by large, virtually
indestructible Live Oaks, Southern magnolia, and other magnolia, such as
sweetbay, cucumber tree, umbrella magnolia and big-leaf magnolia. There are
towering longleaf pine, sweetgum, hickory, cedar, dogwood, redbud, post oak,
black oak and water oak.

Big blue
herons, white egrets, rails, little blue and green herons and bitterns find
food and refuge in the marshes or on the beach and in shallow waters. White
egrets make a picturesque scene roosting in live oaks, bordering the nearby
boat harbor.

Urban
sprawl, superhighways, concrete and asphalt surround us. In spite of this, or
perhaps, in part, because of man’s encroachment, rare visitors or transients,
including white-tail deer, wild turkey, grey fox, bobcat and the eastern fox
squirrel can still be seen here.

In my role
as caretaker, I cut the grass quietly with my gasless push mower, pruning and
watering when necessary.in return I am
rewarded with a never-ending scenario of activity and drama. Territorial rights
are disputed and a variety of predators keep other residents and visitors
constantly on the alert.

In the
early spring, buck rabbits, disputing territory with mating in mind, leap at
each other like kick boxers, fur flying. A minute later they may be running and
dodging for their lives from a hunting dog or fox. Hawks swoop and ground
predators are always on the prowl. The cat stalks day and night, nowing when
and where is the best time to catch its prey off guard. The raccoon and opossum
are omnivorous hunters of the night, listening, sniffing and looking for young
rabbits, fledgling birds, frogs, and of course ripe persimmons, grapes, figs
from what I call my fig tree, or even an accessible garbage can. In the warmer
months, turtles have learned where the kitchen is, and look for leftovers. The
king snake may catch a vole off guard, or dine on a small copperhead or
moccasin that was itself searching for a toad for dinner. The toad, in turn,
could have been looking for a cricket to nail with its sticky tongue, which it
flicks out like a dart.